Lisa Childs - Agent Undercover

“What do we do?” she whispered, her lips moving against his finger.

“This,” he said, and he whirled her around and pressed her back against the brick wall of the stairwell. She gasped just as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Not only did he cover her mouth with his but also he covered her body, too. To hide her. To protect her.

That had been his intent. But her lips were soft beneath his, her breath warm, and he found himself really kissing her. He moved his mouth over hers, taking advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss.

And her arms moved between them. Instead of pushing him away, as he expected, they linked around his neck. And she clung to him.

Agent Undercover

Lisa Childs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LISA CHILDSwrites paranormal and contemporary romance for Mills & Boon. She lives on thirty acres in Michigan with her two daughters, a talkative Siamese and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks she’s a rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her website, www.lisachilds.com, or snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435, USA.

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With love and appreciation for my dad—Jack Childs.

You will always be my hero!

Contents

Cover

Introduction “What do we do?” she whispered, her lips moving against his finger. “This,” he said, and he whirled her around and pressed her back against the brick wall of the stairwell. She gasped just as he lowered his mouth to hers. Not only did he cover her mouth with his but also he covered her body, too. To hide her. To protect her. That had been his intent. But her lips were soft beneath his, her breath warm, and he found himself really kissing her. He moved his mouth over hers, taking advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss. And her arms moved between them. Instead of pushing him away, as he expected, they linked around his neck. And she clung to him.

Title Page Agent Undercover Lisa Childs www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author LISA CHILDS writes paranormal and contemporary romance for Mills & Boon. She lives on thirty acres in Michigan with her two daughters, a talkative Siamese and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks she’s a rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her website, www.lisachilds.com , or snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435, USA.

Dedication With love and appreciation for my dad—Jack Childs. You will always be my hero!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Special Agent Ashton Stryker’s heart pounded fast and hard with anticipation and a rush of adrenaline. He was about to meet the greatest threat to national security in his career with the FBI’s antiterrorism division. Ash’s responsibility was to neutralize that threat.

A bell chimed, announcing his time up with the woman across the table from him. She may have said hi. He wasn’t certain; he hadn’t been paying any attention to her. His target was farther down the long table, smiling at the man whose hand she shook before he moved on to the woman to her left.

Had she passed anything to him in that handshake? Ash wasn’t close enough to see, but there were other eyes on her. Other agents had her under surveillance, too.

Ash stood up and took the next chair down the table. He was getting closer to her. The bell chimed again, announcing the beginning of the next five minutes.

“How can you look like that and be so socially awkward?” the woman across from him asked.

His focus on his target, he only spared the woman a glance. She was probably old enough to be his mother—maybe his grandmother—with iron-gray hair and small reading glasses hanging from a chunky gold chain around the neck of the sweatshirt embroidered with cats. “Excuse me?”

“You haven’t said anything to the women before me,” she said. “Of course when you look like that—the epitome of tall, dark and handsome—you probably don’t have to say anything. You could grunt and women would go home with you.”

He felt like grunting with frustration and impatience, but then she might take that as an invitation. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is the first time I’ve come to one of these things—”

“It’s called speed dating,” she said. “You only have five minutes, so you have to talk fast.”

“I would rather listen,” he said. It was what he did. Listening was how he had found the threat. He’d picked up chatter on wiretaps and other surveillance and then he’d found the post himself.

“Oh—” the older woman fanned herself with one of the drink menus “—you look like that and you’d rather listen. No wonder you’ve never come to one of these things before. You haven’t had to. Why are you here tonight?”

Obviously he couldn’t answer honestly. Ash was no rookie when it came to going undercover; he’d had some dangerous assignments over the years, going deep undercover in terrorist camps and militia groups as well as a motorcycle gang.

But he had never gone speed dating before. A couple of chairs earlier, someone had run a stiletto heel up his pant leg. Another woman had tried to give him her room key. There was danger here, too. So Ash had to be careful to not blow his cover.

“Why?” the woman asked again, her voice sharp with impatience that he hadn’t answered yet.

She definitely reminded him of his grandmother, at least as much as he could remember of the austere woman from whom his father had run away as a teenager. After he’d gotten married and had Ash, he’d come back to visit, but Grandma hadn’t approved of Ash’s mother any more than she had her own son.

Because the woman was kind of intimidating and because it was easier to sell a cover if you told as much of the truth as possible, Ash replied honestly, “I want to meet someone.”

The woman emitted a wistful sigh. “You will,” she assured him. “You will.”

He glanced down the table again to where the threat chatted easily with the man across from her. He was bald with no neck and an ill-fitting suit. Was he a buyer?

“Ooooh,” the woman across from Ash said as if she’d just learned something momentous.

Had he given himself away?

He turned back to her and found her studying him through the thick lenses of her small glasses.

“You already have your eye on someone,” she said, and she pointed down the table at the threat.

Ash swallowed a groan. He had given himself away. So he offered the woman a sheepish grin. “Am I that obvious?”

She shrugged. “I’m observant. I don’t think she’s noticed you at all, though. And in my opinion, you could do better than that pale little blonde.”